


Shits and Giggles

by viksherenqueer



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Horror, Gore, Hallucinations, Schizophrenia, daverezi - Freeform, gamrezi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:45:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viksherenqueer/pseuds/viksherenqueer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're nothing but a puppet. A puppet strung together too thin and too tight, strung up by puppeteers hiding behind clown paint and lime green sugar skulls, chortling as they snort special stardust and get lost in a game of pool with their felt tables and magic cue balls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shits and Giggles

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Last Hearing Of Gamzee Makara](https://archiveofourown.org/works/275898) by [schellibie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schellibie/pseuds/schellibie), [urbanAnchorite (t_ZM)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_ZM/pseuds/urbanAnchorite). 



> no actual gore, it's all gamzee hallucinating out of his wits. if you have questions or comments, i'm more than willing to reply to all of them. this was inspired by a work written by my favorite homestuck author and i'll put a link to the work it was inspired by.

The odd sensations of uncouth voices make their degrees heard deep nested inside your brain matter, causing an uncomfortable twitch in the corner of your pupil that made you want to claw the ocular from your skull. Dig your fingers in deep and pry the warm flesh from it’s socket with a squelch and mess of indigo, stretching and pulling of pink bubble gum veins and an elastic sort of snap as you yanked it to it’s breaking point. Indigo would pour profusely down your face as pain shot throughout your senses, blood pusher making its way into your throat in panic, racing as your veins pumped blood at the speed of light. You could squeeze your fingers around the salt and pepper colored orb of flesh and press your nail deep into the cornea, nested in a wave of flesh and veins. It would collapse in your palm, a mess of squishy squashy stuff and elastic muscle, and you would laugh. You could issue a bone chattering laugh that would cause your limbs to shake in odd ways, like a puppet. A puppet strung together too thin and too tight, strung up by puppeteers hiding behind clown paint and lime green sugar skulls, chortling as they snort special stardust and get lost in a game of pool with their felt tables and magic cue balls.

You seem to saunter back to reality in the most unfashionable manner, shaking your head about and sending your locks astray. Your eyes bug out of your face for a moment, their yellow contrasting against the pale grey skin pulled tight over gaunt, sunken features. Your face seemed so hollow that the curve of your nub sticking straight out from it’s cranial hole seemed almost shocking in comparison. 

A sort of noise pulls you from the stupor, where you find your calloused fingertips feeling their ways over the worn surface of your cheekbones and sunken in jaw line. You let them drop, limp and swinging for a second’s notice before stilling them. A clatter, a quiet metal clatter that quirked your curiosity like a light switch was flicked up in your pan. You ghost over the floor, body slowly making it’s way over to the corner to peek, lenses focusing after several dragging moments on the red dressed dimwit at his seat. His headphones lay against the metal surface, surrounded by a mess of paper and pencils, static-buzzing noises, sounds that made your skin tingle in pure annoyance, blasted from their small speakers. He looked lost, ass planted firmly in his seat as he leaned back and stared at his palm. 

“And motherfuckers done get to rapping ‘bout how my think pan is all kinds of empty, stop admirin’ yo palm like you up and found yourself the fountain of youth surrounded by a fuckton of fairies and golden roads. Got you appearing all shades o’ dumb, Mr. Strider.” You drag your words out like venom, slowly leaking it’s way into the air like rancid breath and poison that would sink into his bones, and send shudders down to his core. Instead, his hand closes into a fist, far too quickly. His head snaps up, his shades almost bouncing off his nog and he gave you a look of disbelief. He looked tired, shoulders weighed down like a wet rag, mouth drawn in a thick line that seemed almost invisible against his white skin. He was pale, too pale. It made you want to bash your club against every visible inch, until his body leaked blood and pus and glowed a beautiful melody of black and purples. You wanted to snatch those smug shades off his sniffnode and crack them under your grip, watch the pain fall to his face, the anger boil inside his hot blood as you tear the flesh from his bones like peeling a fruit. Heaps of pale skin and muscle in piles across the floor, blood smeared over your mitts and across your teeth. His skeleton would scream, like in those old cartoons you found on the internet and would sit up late, wasting time away, waiting for a lusus that wouldn’t show his hideous face until it was time to throw him to the beasts. What a fucking waste. A sort of dull mumbling brought you back, and you gave Dave another glance.

“-really? Like I swear you get to lurking back and forth in shadows. You’re like that fucking clown, from that one horror flick. Penny-nickel-what-the-fuck-ever. Pimp you out with an afro as high as giraffe pussy and some new threads. Maybe you’d be more of a laughing stock than you already are.” He sighed, fist tight, muscles stretching white against the underside of his clenched paw. You wanted to pry it open your with claws, tear off his fingers and pull them apart, bit by bit while he screamed in a beautiful harmony with the mocking voices in the distance. 

“You’re gonna suffocate the damn thing.” You state thickly, letting the worlds lull off your tongue in a way that was far too casual for your relationship and way too stuck up for strangers. 

“What?” He stated blankly, eyes finding yours behind shades, a mess of confusion and crimson. You could see right through him, through the epidermis and ligaments, through the mess of sadness and self-pity that was ironic on no level, through the white and red blood cells and air meshing through his lungs. He was transparent, in all the worst and most unnerving ways. 

"Whatever mess you got yourself hiding in your there paw. Gonna done drown the air right from it's little nonexistent lungs. Up and cull the little bastard like a lowblood done shocked up and on his knees, fresh and ready for the kill. Nothin’ left of the lil’ shit ‘sides lymph and bone splinters and some eye jelly.” You ignore the quiet rumbling of your stomach, the shaking of your innards that made you grit your teeth, nerves on end as acid ate away at the unfilled nutrient sac. You really should invest in downing some grub soon, it would work wicked miracles on your system.

“Uh,” he arches a brow overtop the rim of those annoying ocular covers, before letting his fist rest on the desk. “Two things. One: what the everloving fuck are you even going on about? And two: gross.”

“There’s something in your paw.” You growl, before flashstepping to appear infront of him. Molecules bounce, air swishing past your swift form as you seem to disappear and reappear but never leaving in the process. It makes the air stale with chucklevoodoos and mischief, something Terezi often picked up on your escapades together. She could smell you coming from a mile away and it took all you had not to snatch her sniffer between your digits and snap it clean off. Laugh as she fell blindly to the floor, clutching at her wits and squealing as blood made her face all the more ugly. She made you angry, made the thick ice of your blood boil in a way that would make it run black should it be graced by the serendipitous divine right to do so.

“Okay asshole, I’m not a fucking dog. I have this thing called a hand.” He held up his free hand, using the index finger of his fist to point at it. “Say it with me now, hand. We could do this like Dora the Explorer okay, this is hand. But in Spanish. Se puede decir mierda mano? No, no puedes porque eres más tonto que un maldito saco de martillos sin sus cabezas.”

“ _WOULD YOU SHUT YOUR DAMN MOTHERFUCKIN’ TRAP FOR TWO SECONDS?_ ” You hiss, the thick, omnipotent sound of your psychics finding their way into your tone and coating it in a way that sent heavy, frightful shivers down the human’s spine. You could almost taste his heart skipping a beat. 

“Open your filthy motherfuckin’ paw and show this here brother just what you got in your nasty wits to get to hidin’.” You command, and the light of indigo in his eyes makes his muscles strain, his skin break out into cold goose bumps and the light smell of sweat take over his odor. The clockwork of his mind turns slow, the inner working of an ancient clock tower coming to life, dust fuming the atmosphere and choking the workers. It took a moment, but his hand fell open. You were disappointed.

“Well, well, _motherfuckin’ well_ ,” you start, swiping the object from his palm. It left it’s metal indent in his skin, bright and red, fading quickly against the pale organ. You flick the coin high up in the air, watching the light glint off of it in ways that perplexed you, brought you to your nerve’s end in wonder. It finally tumbled it’s way down, landing in your open mitt before you flipped it over to look at the scratched side. “How’d you get to possessing my sweet little hate mate’s caeger?”

It took Dave a moment to sink back into the reality of his life, his soul seeming to float down from the clouds and slowly making it’s way into his senses. After a long moment, he realized the trinket was gone. “Woah, what the fuck did you do to me?”

“I did what I can do to just about anybody,” you growl with a smirk, leaning down. “I gutted your mind like I could do your innards and made myself damn well comfy.”

“Well don’t do it again.” Dave attempted to sound menacing, but compared to Gamzee’s usual growl, he sounded more frightened than anything. “Give that back.”

You stare him down for a long moment, oculars focused, the indigo of them bright and wild. Your hair casted a shadow over each indent in your nog, giving you an animalistic appeal that had his heart thrashing behind his tiny, breakable ribs. You drop the coin on the desk with a clatter, before pulling up a chair and taking a seat. “Let’s flip it.”

“Excuse me?” Dave mutters, after his hand shot out like lightning to grab the small circle. You wanted to take it, shove it down past the first ring of muscles in his esophagus and lodge it in his trachea. You wanted to watch him clutch at his throat, before you grabbed his hands and held them to the desk. The beautiful shades of blues and purples he’d turn, the gagging cough that would be his only chance of life, repeatedly playing over and over in your eardrums like a scratched record. That’s all he was. A series of scratched records with too many copies and not enough listeners. Pointless variations, remixes were made, but they steadily sat on shelves and eventually disappeared. They disappeared one by one and as long as at least one copy of the original stood clear and safe, no one cared. Dead Dave’s don’t die hard. They die forgotten.

“I can hear your thoughts, y’ know. Why do you have the caeger?” 

“Like I’d tell you.” Dave hissed, setting a glare firm on his face. A wave of fear settled down his body and he felt odd, like he was full of rocks and sinking in a lake of possibilities and liquid sorrow. Fish bit at his exposed skin, gnawing and gnashing at the bones beneath the surface until Dave felt empty again. “I... I found it.” He admitted, coughing a bit. His lungs felt tight. “I found it and I’m simply holding onto it until I see her again. It was under my bed from when she used to stay in my room. I just... I dunno, it means a lot somehow?” He sighed, sinking into his seat. His body felt an odd mix of not weighing enough and weighing far too much all at once, his skin cold and prickly under the crimson fabric of his pajamas. He scratched at it relentlessly, bothered and unnerved. “I used to think the damn thing sort of.. I guess, went along with her will? It wasn’t just a bunch of seer bullshit, or law bull. It was just.. Her. The coin was like a part of her. Like... Sure she flipped it but... Fate had shit to do with it, y’know? It was all her. The coin committed whatever she willed it to.”

You give a couple nods, letting that sink in. Terezi used to be the epitome of cocky, and the fact that Strider has gotten to the point that he thinks that bitch can control the fate of some old piece of trash to land on either side? They were all pathetic, drowning in their own sorrows and issues and it made you want to laugh in their faces, to pull and yank at the strings of their hearts and swing them around like puppets to your will. 

“I’m gonna motherfuckin’ get to repeatin’ myself. Let’s flip the fuck, for shit’s and giggles. If it’s so bent on her will, we’ll pick sides.”

“Are you suggesting we flip to see who she likes better?” Dave arched a brow, before glancing down at the coin in his hand, uncertainty melting into his features, a nervous pounding settling into the side of his nog. 

“Damn straight. Just one lil’ flip. You can even pick sides.” You sit back, before sliding your hands under your backside. “Look, I ain’t even got no means to intervene or shit. Flip the coin, Strider.”

He stared at the caeger between his fingers, his heart picking up the pace as he suddenly launched the coin into the air and it landed in his palm, before he clamped his hand over it. “Scratch up is me.”

“Then I get heads?”

“Yeah.” He said, staring at his clasped hands for a long minute.

“Open them.” You command.

He does nothing, staring.

“ _I SAID MOTHERFUCKIN’ OPEN YOUR NASTY ASS MITTS, MOTHERFUCKER_.” He tenses, the muscles of his shoulders buckling as he quickly peels his hands apart from the mess of fear that sunk deep into his bone marrow. 

Heads up. The surface was scratchless and shiny and silver with copper rims and Dave’s body seemed to stop in his place. Reality and devastation seemed to sink in all at once. He almost shut down, just staring blankly at the coin as you moved to stand, your gangly frame swaying.

“For shits and giggles,” you repeat and flash him a malicious grin.

After a long moment of silence, “for shits and giggles,” he returns.

With a wide grin and a lack of murderous intent, you leave the room and pass Terezi in the hall. “For shits and giggles,” you tell her with a laugh. She doesn’t get it because she is stupid. They’re all stupid and they’ll never get it.

You don’t see a lot of Dave anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow me on tumblr and send me prompts there. i may or may not do them uwu my tumblr is http://prostateprincess.tumblr.com/


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